


There's no rewind in the real world

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Death, Minor Character Death, Murder, he really does, ish, its 3 in the morning and i dont want to look up how police work bear with me, karakt tries, so uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just wish your Bro would stop doing whatever the fuck illegal thing he’s doing at the club.</p><p>Eventually that wish comes true. In the worst way possible.<br/>(Surprise here's chapter three)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Living in the projects sucks enough without your brother doing some shady shit at the club he works at. He comes home late as hell with some ridiculous amount of cash in his pockets and a grin on his face.

“We’re getting’ the fuck outa’ here soon, lil man. Just wait. Shit’s gonna be great.”

You’re fifteen and he never listens to your opinion anyway so you nod and hope you can fall asleep with enough time to not pass out in class the next day.

You never get to bed early enough.

It’s not so bad here, though. Karkat lives pretty close. It’s like a five minute walk to his place from yours.

You just wish your Bro would stop doing whatever the fuck illegal thing he’s doing at the club.

Eventually that wish comes true. In the worst way possible.

You come home from school one day and when you open the door you know something’s wrong. There’s glass all over the floor and blood on the carpet and your brother’s hat is crumpled in the corner. The muffled sound of a punch and a grunt comes from one of the bedrooms and you grab your sword from the wall and move down the hallway cautiously. There’s another punching sound and that is very clearly your brother making a distressed noise.

You nudge open his bedroom door very softly and peer cautiously into the room. What you see almost makes you drop the sword. He’s tied up to a chair and he’s bleeding from his face and there’s a gun pointed at his head but he’s still got that fucking grin on his face.

And then his eyes flick over to the doorway you’re standing in and it drops real fast. You can see your name on his lips and then the gunshot cracks in your ears.

You vaguely register the scream coming from your throat as you watch blood and brains come out of Bro’s head. The three people surrounding him turn towards you and you back up and run out of your house.

They’re following you, you can hear their shouts and footfalls, but you’re running and you _can’t let them get you._ A bullet whizzes past your face and oh shit oh fuck they’ve already started shooting at you.

There’s a turn. And then another, and another. You hide behind a dumpster and they don’t realize they’ve run right past you.

You stay there, behind that dumpster, clutching your sword close to your body, until someone comes to take out trash. You’re still in defensive mode and you swing at the person before you realize who it is.

Karkat’s got his arms up, trash dropped to the ground when he moved to defend his face. Your sword clatters to the ground and you stand there, deflated, trying to bring you breathing back to some sort of normal and failing pretty fucking badly.

“Jesus FUCK Strider, why the hell are you attacking me for garbage?!” 

You hear shouting voices from a few blocks down and pick up your sword again, completely ignoring Karkat. There’s a hand on your shoulder and you snap your head back so fast you hear something crack.

There must be some giveaway on your face.

“Woah okay calm down. Obviously something shitty happened so we’re gonna go to back to my place, okay?”

You nod and then manage to say a, “Yeah,” before loosening your grip on the handle. He leads you back to his home and you stand in the doorway for a good thirty seconds before actually entering. It’s then that you realize you haven’t even taken off your backpack. You set it down, along with your sword, on the couch next the where you sit. Karkat puts something cold in your hands and you take a sip. Apple juice. You snicker into the cup when you realize he bought it or you. He doesn’t even like apple juice.

Neither does your Bro-

Did your bro.

It hits you like a ton of bricks why you’re at Karkat’s house drinking apple juice when this scene should be happening at your own. He has to take the cup away from you to make sure you don’t break it, and then he crouches in front of you.

“What the fuck happened? Why were you so freaked out over by the dumpster?”

You try and look away but he just shoves your face back to his.

“Dave talk to me.”

You whisper as quietly as you possibly can. “Bro’s dead.”

There’s confusion written all over his face so you will yourself to say it louder. “Bro’s _dead_.”

“What? How?”

“He- something went bad at the club I… they shot him and I was just _there_ and I didn’t even do anything! He looked at me and then they shot him! I could’ve done something I could- I should’ve-”

“Stop.”

You look at him and he looks equal parts horrified and sympathetic and you realize you’re crying. You breathe in a breath that comes out as a sob. You’re still so fucking scared that when he touches your arm you shriek and just start crying harder. Karkat pulls you into a hug and rubs his hand on your back and you try so fucking hard to stop crying. They’re not even grief tears yet. You’re so panicked that you can’t make the liquid coming out if your eyes _stop._

And when the lock on the door clicks it gets worse because you know it’s them you’re going to die, you’re going to die and it’s going to hurt and oh god please don’t let them shoot Karkat too-

“Dave?”

That’s… Karkat’s dad.

You try and compose yourself as best you can, but that’s really hard when there’s snot and tears all over your fucking face. His dad pulls a tissue out of his bag and hands it to you and you nod a thank you as you wipe up your face.

You can hear him ask Karkat what the hell is going on and Karkat pulling the both of them away from you to tell him.

You curl up on yourself and sink your head into your knees. The crying hasn’t started back up yet, but you can feel it waiting. Karkat tries to engage you in conversation while his dad is in the phone with presumably the police, but you just shake your head and stay quiet.

When the cops arrive, you tell them as plainly as you can what happened. When they ask you about your Bro’s “Side Job,” you answer a lot of their questions with, “I don’t know.” Because you really don’t. You know he worked at a club and brought home way more money than he should have, but that’s it.

You manage to get through the whole thing without crying. You’ll take that as a win.

Eventually they leave. And you go back to staring at you knees.

Karkat makes you come to bed with him, so you pull off your pants and curl up next him under the blanket. He snuggles in his sleep, you knew that. So you lie there in his arms trying to make yourself go to sleep, but it doesn’t work. You resign yourself to a night of staring at Karkat’s shirt and vow to sleep the next day.

You don’t.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i made a chapter two, now with a four hour long shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You thought you'd seen the last of this fic  
> WELL THE JOKES ON YOU CAUSE HERE'S CHAPTER TWO

Mr. Vantas doesn’t make you go to school the next day. Karkat leaves you reluctantly, but his dad makes him go. You spend the better part of the morning curled up in his bed, trying to will yourself asleep.

It doesn’t work.

Eventually you give up and get up. You pull on your clothes, and they smell like sweat and death. Ironic. Ha. You shuffle your way out to the living room. You’re pretty sure you heard Karkat’s dad leave for work a few hours ago, so you’re alone.

You need different clothes.

You’d borrow Karkat’s but he’d about a head shorter and two sizes bigger than you are. You and his dad are about the same height, but that would just be weird. You have to get your own clothes, but that means going back to your place. Which you’d rather not do.

You have two options. One: Sit and rot at the Vantas house until someone goes and gets your clothes for you. Two: Buck the fuck up and go get your own goddamned clothes. There has to be police there.

You’d love to go with option one, but you can’t disappoint your Bro by wimping out.

You go with option two. Grabbing your sword, you dump the contents of your backpack on the couch before putting it on and leaving. Karkat gave you a spare key to his house years ago, so you lock the door behind you.

The walk to your place really isn’t that long, you’d just taken the ridiculously complicated, evading death route to Karkat’s dumpster yesterday. The thought makes your heart race and you look around to make sure no one’s going to shoot you. The area is clear save for an older woman hanging up her clothes on a clothes line.

Police tape is surrounding your building, and there’s a couple cop cars around the front. A few of them are standing around outside your door, talking into walkie talkies or some shit, it doesn’t really matter. You duck under the police tape and one of them notices, coming up to you.

“Hey, kid, you shouldn’t be here. This is a police investigation.”

You motion to your building with your sword. “That’s my house.”

Your voice is cry-dried and you cough a bit to get the sound out. The officer looks you up and down, focuses his eyes on the sword, and nods at it.

“Why the sword?”

“My brother just got murdered and they messed up and didn’t shoot me too. Why do you think?”

He looks uncomfortable. “Look, kid, I don’t know that you want to go in there-”

You’re getting irritated, and it shows in your tone. “I’d rather get my shit before the place gets ransacked, if that’s alright with you.”

He takes a step to the side and you walk up to the door, yanking it open. The first thing you notice is that the place smells like fifty different chemicals, all assaulting your nose at once. You make your way into the wall of chemicals and look around. The blood on the floor’s gone, but your brother’s hat is still there. You pick it up gingerly and stare at it.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be in here!”

You snap your head to the sound. A woman in a dress shirt and pants stands there. You clear your throat.

“Dead guy’s little brother.”

Her expression softens and she gives you a smile. You’re not sure what she’s trying to portray with it, but it isn’t sympathy, and for that you’re grateful.

“Sorry. Sometimes we just get random kids on the scene and have to kick them out. They think they can just explore the place without permission.”

“Where is he?”

It slips from your mouth unplanned, and you see her smile falter. “I’m sorry?”

“Br- my brother. Where’d they take him?”

“I’m, uh, I’m pretty sure they took him to LBJ hospital?”

She looks uncomfortable, so you thank her and move around her to get to your room. Inside is oddly still. No one’s really been in here, not that they needed to be, but it’s kind of strange. You go to your dresser and shove a couple of clothes in your bag, along with the hat. You grab your camera and its case, hanging it over your shoulder.

All that’s left is your brother’s room, and you’re not sure you want to go in, but something tells you to, so you push open the door. The chemical smell is worse here. You find his gloves on his bedside table and look on the bed. His glasses, one lens cracked, lay on the crumpled bedspread. You’re surprised they didn’t get put into evidence, but what use could the police have with a pair of broken shades? You pick up both belongings and place them inside your bag.

You can feel Lil’ Cal’s gaze on you. You turn to look at him. He’s terrorized you for years and you want to just leave him here. But as fucked up as this puppet is, he’s still part of your family, so you grab a shoebox and shove him inside. On your way out, you pass a blood splattered picture of you and your Bro when you were little. You grab it and nearly trip on your way running out of the house.

You hear the woman saying something to you on your way out, but it doesn’t matter because underneath all those chemicals the house still smells like blood and death and your brother and you can’t handle it. Your head is pounding and everything is loud and bright on your senses. You fumble with the key to Karkat’s house, dropping it twice before finally getting the door unlocked. You slam it shut behind you, locking it aggressively before sinking onto it.

You think you might start crying and you’d rather do that somewhere a bit more private, so you shuffle your body and all your stuff into the bathroom. You might as well kill two birds with one stone, so you turn on the shower and strip, climbing it lethargically. After you’ve done all the vitals, you sit curled up with your head in your knees on the floor of the tub and cry. You’re not sure how long you’re in there for, but you know you get out when the water starts running cold. You towel off and get into a new pair of clothes, shoving your old ones in your bag.

You’ve got about an hour before Karkat comes home from school, so you make your way into his room and pull out your Bro’s stuff. You put on his gloves. They’re too big and aren’t fitted to your hands right, but they’re comforting. His shades are set on the table next to you, too fragile to really do anything with right now. Next is his hat. There’s blood on the rim, and maybe it was there before yesterday, but you highly doubt it. It covers your eyes and you can hardly see with both your shades and the hat, but it doesn’t matter. You shove the shoebox with Lil’ Cal inside under Karkat’s bed.

Last is the picture. You don’t try to wipe the blood away, just stare at the picture of the two of you. This one was back on your first day of middle school. You were trying to get out of the picture because first day of school pictures weren’t cool anymore. He’d just claimed that they were ironic and shoved you back into the picture.

Karkat finds you curled around it an hour later.

“Hey, uh, dad’s bringing back pizza when he gets home, so I don’t know if you just want to eat in here, or eat with us-”

“It’s fine. I’ll come join you guys.”

He sits down next to you and you duck your head, hiding your face under the rim of the hat. He slips the picture from your hands, and you know he’s noted the gloves on your hands. He’s quiet for minute.

“Did you go back?”

You nod, and the hat almost slips off your head. You right it, though, and Karkat grabs your hand before you can put it back down. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I needed clothes. And I wanted to get some stuff before the place got ransacked.”

You motion to your camera bag. He tries to take the glove off and you fist your hand around his. He doesn’t try to pull his hand back and your shoulders start shaking. You hear police sirens in the distance and Karkat wraps his arms around you, having freed his hands. You can’t stop your fucking trembling and it’s pathetic, it really is. Your Bro wouldn’t hesitate to let you know. You know Karkat won’t mention it, having cried your shoulder soggy after many a romance movie, but you know he’s thinking it.

You mumble something into his arm.

“What?”

“Tell me about school.”

He knows you, knows you hate dwelling on your fucking pitiful actions, so he complies. You listen to him rant about what John and Jade did today, what happened in your history class and that your teacher gave out a stupid fucking reading assignment that has to be done by next Monday. He briefly mentions that people asked where you were today, and that others asked if you were doing alright, having seen the news story that was apparently on last night. Then he skips to math class, and you lose yourself in the way he curses different students in a lot of creative ways that you’re going to have to use in the future. He talks about school until his dad gets home with the pizza and finds the two of you wrapped around each other.

You join them for dinner, but you keep on your brother’s things. The last thing you need to do is worry about losing them, and what better way than to keep them on? Karkat and his dad talk about things, his job, what happened at school, and you sit in your chair silently with your pizza, the grease sticking to your tongue like a glue. You say a couple yeses and no’s but for the most part you keep quiet.

His dad picked you up a new toothbrush, and you’re grateful because you definitely forgot yours at the house. You brush your teeth mechanically and fall into bed next to Karkat.

“I’m sorry I’m taking up your bedspace. You must be pretty fucking tired of me-”

“Dave, shut the fuck up. If we didn’t want you here we’d say something. We’ll get another sleeping arrangement figured out soon enough, but this works fine, you self-conscious fuck. Go to sleep.”

His hat is on the table and you haven’t taken the gloves off since you put them on. Karkat takes your hands in his and you sigh, curling around him and giving into the sleep you so desperately need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, here's a secret.  
> I really fuckin love this au I've created. Like i have a whole world created in my head, there's thousands of stories i could make about this and the characters. it's my favorite. so i gave in and wrote a second chapter. there's a possibility of more, but i'm not saying that for sure, nor leaving this open ended for chapter wise.   
> but yeah  
> this is my favorite au i've made, and there's so many possibilities.


	3. Chapter 3

You’re back at school and everything is loud and bright and you think you might be shaking. You knew you should’ve skipped this class today.

Forensics was the wrong choice.

Your teacher’s explaining something about murder this, gunshot wound that, and you’re stuck staring at the bloody mess of a body that’s on the powerpoint. Aradia’s sitting next to you, and you can vaguely hear her scribbling something down before she nudges you. You look at her, and she nods down at the piece of paper between you.

‘hey you alright’

You scratch back to her.

‘yeah im fine’

‘are you sure because your legs shaking the table’

You can feel your leg jumping and you will yourself to stop. The table stops shaking and Aradia gives you a weird look before turning back to the teacher. You look back up at the screen.

Everything is covered in red and that dead guy would look a lot like your Bro if he had his head blown open and you are going to explode.

You grab your bag and stand up, almost knocking the chair over in the process. Your teacher stops talking and looks at you. The class is silent save for a few quiet giggles.

“Dave?”

It’s too much and you can still see the guy on the screen and you’re going to vomit you need to get the fuck out of this classroom.

You’re tripping over yourself to get out of the room and you know you look dumb as shit and everyone’s laughing except for Aradia. She’s just giving you this sad, knowing look and it unnerves you to no end as you run to the bathroom.

It’s so thankfully empty as you enter, locking yourself in a stall and heaving your insides into the already disgusting school toilet. It’s not much. You haven’t really eaten anything since pizza the other night. Your stomach cramps with the effort of throwing up and you groan. That doubled with the racing in your head makes it hard to focus on anything.

“Dave?”

You didn’t hear anyone come in. You should have. You were raised to hear a pin drop in your sleep, and here you are, blowing off footsteps.

“Dave open the stall.”

It’s Karkat, and you don’t know how he knew you were throwing up in the bathroom, but you’re glad it’s him and not someone else. You pull yourself up enough to unlock the stall before leaning back onto one of the walls. He opens the door, side-eyes the toilet, kicks the flusher, and sits down in front of you.

Your voice is gravely. “How did you-”

“Aradia texted me. Said you ran out of class looking scared and sick.”

You knock your head back against the wall. Of course she’d text him. Everyone know you’re staying with him.

Your head’s not spinning as badly, but your stomach’s still cramped up. You place a hand over your stomach and sigh. There’s a rummaging sound and then something small and rectangular is placed in your hand. You look down and see a granola bar.

“Dude, I just threw up. I don’t think I need chewy, grainy goodness right now.”

“I’m not deaf. You stomach’s ridiculously loud. And you haven’t hardly eaten anything these past few days. Eat.”

“Karkat-”

“Eat the fucking granola bar before I shove it down your throat.”

“Kinky,” you say, but you unwrap the bar anyway. The candy yogurt coating on the bottom tastes uncomfortably sweet, but you make your way through it.

“So what was so vomit worthy in science class?”

“Forensics.” A correction, and also an answer.

He looks like he’s pulling a blank.

“Study of dead bodies and crime scenes.”

You can see the pieces connect together and then he lets out a small, “Oh.”

You munch on the granola bar, trying to still whatever’s still spinning in your head. Your eyes are closed and you’re pretty sure Karkat’s moved to sit next to you. He puts an arm around you and you lean your head on his shoulder.

“You’re not gonna throw up on me, right?”

“Fuck off, of course not.”

The silence is heavy and uncomfortable.

The bell startles both of you. Karkat stands, pulling you up. Your next class is gym, and you really, really don’t want to go.

“We’ll take an out day,” he says quietly, and you nod. Sitting on against the wall with him is a much better choice than forcing yourself to do whatever activity your teacher’s got planned.

Karkat calls here for the both of you when your teacher calls roll. You just sit against the wall, trying to look as relaxed as possible. When the rest of the class goes to change, he sits down next to you.

“We’re allowed to go outside today, want to sit out there?”

“Yeah, that works.”

You move yourself outside and sit down against the brick exterior of your school. He sits next to you again and you bury you face in his shoulder. It’s still kind of cold outside so not many people are out here, but for good measure, you pull your hoodie up over your face.

You’re about to say something when a loud series of cracking noises come from inside. Your body locks up and you stop breathing. You hear laughter and your teacher yelling, but it does nothing to stifle the panic coursing through your body.

You’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re going to die you’re-

“Dave!”

Your nails are digging into Karkat’s arm so hard that he’s bleeding. You release him immediately, choking on the air you’re trying to take in. There’s too much blood rushing through your ears to hear him say anything other than your name.

Your head is pounding and you’re completely silent because maybe they won’t find you if your silent, maybe they won’t kill you if you’re silent, maybe they won’t make you watch Karkat die if you’re silent.

There’s another crackling sound and you start sobbing. You bury your head in your knees and cover it with your arms and hands. There’s a hand on your shoulder and the touch breaks through all the fear in your head for a moment. It’s familiar and comforting and you lean into it. Arms wrap around you and you’re shaking in them. A shushing sound breaks through your hearing and you just

You breathe in and out for a couple of seconds and then you release the death grip you’ve got on your hair. You untense yourself and lean fully on whoever’s holding you. It doesn’t matter who because you feel safe with them.

You feel protected.

They massage their hand into your shoulders and you open your eyes. Karkat’s looking at you funny. You close your eyes again to get away from it.

“Dave.”

You open your eyes and stare at the concrete.

“It was firecrackers.”

You know the difference between firecrackers and gunshots. You’ve known it for a long time. It was just so similar, and far enough away that your brain decided to conveniently forget.

“Sorry,” you force through closed teeth.

“What? Fuck, why are you sorry? The shitheads aren’t allowed to set that shit off in the school and everyone knows it.”

You hate when he sees you like that. You hate that he has to snap you out of it every time. You hate the fact that he knows exactly how to.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” you blurt before you can think. “You shouldn’t have too. It’s not your fault. It could just be normal, we could see each other at school and meet up, but I’m fucking living with you. And now you have to deal with me flipping my shit like a little bitch anytime someone sets off a firework or someone starts bleeding too much or someone talks about-”

“Stop it.” You can hear the venom in his voice, so you do. “Why the fuck can’t you get it through your thick skull that I don’t care about that shit? I fucking care about you, okay? You think I’m just going to drop you because you’re having some issues? What the hell! It’s not like you’re afraid of the fucking firecrackers for no reason. The police still haven’t got the guys that killed your Bro and I know it’s fucking with you. All this shit that’s happening at school isn’t helping anything.”

“Karkat-”

“I mean, it’s not like this is some new thing. You’ve been having panic attacks as long as I’ve known you. Did that stop me from sticking around? No. Look at me. I’m right here and I’m not leaving, so get it into your fucking brain that I care about you and stop feeling bad for taking up space.”

Maybe you’re crying, and maybe you launch yourself into Karkat’s arms because he knows what happens next. Maybe you sniffle into his shirt like a wimp and let him hold you until you feel okay.

And maybe you don’t.

But you do.

“I know you’re feeling guilty, and not just for sleeping in my bed.” Your breathing stutters. “But there was nothing you could have done. If you’d tried anything you might be dead. Or half dead in some hospital. But you’re not. And your Bro wouldn’t have wanted you to anyway. You know he wouldn’t want you sacrificing yourself for him.”

You let yourself cry into his shoulder, because you know and it hurts. The fact that there was literally nothing you could have done hurts more than any bullet wound could and you sob.

Everyone went inside when the firecrackers started, and they still haven’t come out yet. Karkat scoops you up in his arms and starts walking the way back to his house. You don’t mind. You’re not sure you could stand anymore of that school today.

After a while, you start getting near places where people can see you, so you squirm your way out of his arms and start walking next to him.

It’s quiet.

You don’t like it.

You glance down at Karkat’s arm. It’s stopped bleeding, but your fingernail marks are still there. Your lip finds its way between your teeth and you bite it raw the entire way back.

The first thing you do at his house is flop onto his bed. You backpack drops dead weight onto the floor.

“Sorry,” you mumble into his pillows.

“I still don’t get what you’re saying sorry for-”

“Your arm.”

It’s silent until he speaks again. “It’s not your fault. It’s not even like it’s that bad.”

“You were bleeding because of me.”

There’s a sigh and then the bed dips where he sits down.

“Look. Maybe it was your fault. But you didn’t mean to so that’s what matters. You didn’t know, and it’s okay.”

You roll over to face him and his brows furrow.

“Jesus, your lip’s a mess.”

You laugh a little at that. Leave it to Karkat to stare at your lips first thing.

The next thing you know he’s pulled you upright and you’re trying not to fall back over. His eyes get narrower.

“Alright, first we clean up your lip and then we get some food in you. You’re gonna pass out if you don’t eat something substantial soon.”

You roll your eyes at that. He’s a worrywart for no reason, but you guess you can see why. You did almost fall over.

He practically drags you into the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth on the way. He wets it before pressing it to your lips. The coolness of the water coupled with the pressure from his fingers makes the sharp pain melt into a duller one.

Karkat’s unoccupied hand rests on your cheek and you nuzzle into it.

There’s red on the washcloth when he pulls it away, but not much. He grimaces at it. You stand and make your way into the kitchen. He follows you a couple minutes later, finds you staring into the fridge blankly.

“You know what you want?”

His voice snaps you out of your daze. “Grilled cheese sounds fucking fantastic.”

He pushes past you into the fridge and pulls the stuff out. “What is it with you and the least nutritious food choices?”

“What, you think my comfort food should be celery stalks and unseasoned chicken?”

“Actually, celery’s not that healthy, you burn more calories chewing it than you gain-”

“You definitely think my comfort food should be celery stalks and unseasoned chicken. I can’t believe this. How can I live with someone who doesn’t understand the meaning of comfort food?”

“I understand the meaning of comfort food, Dave. I just don’t think you should resort to fake cheese doused in butter.”

 “But that’s the whole point, man. You’re meant to gorge yourself on fatty goodness and eat away your feelings. That’s why it’s called ‘comfort food,’ not ‘keep yourself healthy in times of serious trauma food.’”

He huffs and flips the sandwich he’s got in the pan. You feel… weird. You’re joking around and it seems inappropriate for how close it is to his death. You feel kind of numb, honestly. Cried out from all of today’s events.

It takes a couple seconds before you realize Karkat’s trying to hand you your sandwich. You take it and lose yourself in the buttery cheesiness. It’s warm and gooey and crunchy and everything you love about grilled cheeses.

“You want some tomato soup?”

You pull a face. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“What?”

“Tomato soup’s fucking disgusting.”

Now it’s his turn to make a face. “Are you serious? It’s literally the one thing that make grilled cheeses good.”

“No, it just makes your bread too soggy and too sweet to even fathom eating. I can’t believe you actually like that shit.”

“I can’t believe you don’t.”

He pulls out a can and pours it in a bowl. Shoves it in the microwave before turning back to his sandwich. You pull yourself back into melted cheese town and listen to the crackle of the griddle.

Your Bro never really thought griddles were necessary in your home, and you guess he was right. No one really cooked anything healthy at your house, and anything you did cook you could just use a frying pan.

The door clicks and you see Karkat’s dad walk in. You straighten yourself up a bit, but Karkat just keeps slouching over the counter.

“You kids are home early.”

“Fire alarm went off and they couldn’t figure out what was wrong, so they just sent us home,” Karkat replies smoothly.

His dad sighs and sets his bag down. “I wish they would have called me”

“Yeah, well, we’re within walking distance, so it’d be kind of pointless.”

He pulls out some papers and sits down, clearly unoccupied with the topic. “If you guys are fine with it, we’ll have leftover spaghetti tonight, okay.”

“Yeah,” you reply quietly.

“Oh, Dave, how was the first day back?”

Karkat tenses up next to you.

“It was fine. Forensics got a little heavy, but other than that, it was cool as can be.”

His soup dings. “Uh, we’re gonna go do some homework in my room, okay?”

“That’s fine. Don’t get soup on anything.”

Karkat grabs his soup and sandwich and practically drags you back to his room. You sit on his bed and he sits at his desk. True to his word, he doesn’t get soup anywhere. You kind of stare at the wall by his head while he eats.

“Hey.”

You switch your gaze over to him.

“You okay?”

It’s kind of a stupid question, but you answer him with a shake of your head anyway. You get up and flop on top of him.

“Oh my fucking god get your ass off of me.”

“But you’re comfy,” you say, curling up onto him more.

“Jesus fuck.”

“You’re done with your gross as fuck soup so I mean it’s not like you’re gonna spill anything.”

“That’s not even the point, Dave.”

“I know,” you say quietly into his neck. His fingers card through your hair and you sigh, mouthing your way up to his lips. He kisses you gently and you caress his cheeks with your thumbs. His hair is coarse on your fingers and you pull him closer.

“Dave-”

You shut him up with smashing your mouths together. It doesn’t work how you want it too because there’s spit everywhere and now your mouth kind of hurts so you pull back and wipe off your mouth before going back to kissing him.

It’s

It’s

You kind of stop feeling like you, even though you wouldn’t trade kissing Karkat for the world. You can feel his lips, and you can feel his fingers trying to rub feeling back into your fingers and you can hear the soft sighs that escape your mouths but

it’s all muted.

So you keep kissing him and he drops his mouth down your throat and you feel too numb and too vulnerable but most of all you feel too empty so you let him try to kiss the real back into you while sitting there with your frayed ends tingling like electrical wire.

You don’t know how long you sit there with the blitzed out expression on your face but it’s long enough for Karkat to start calling your name. It’s too much noise in your staticked head so you kiss him quiet.

Everything’s black after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ive taken so long on this chapter that the end is so completely different from the beginning and my reasoning for the ending is that statics a bitch that hits at the worst times

**Author's Note:**

> ive been meaning to make this and i cant sleep so here  
> tell me about typos yo  
> also this is really shitting writing im well aware of how shitty it is  
> its really bad holy shit why am i posting this  
> the title is irrelevant wow


End file.
